


Tales From the Sea

by miscreant_rose



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscreant_rose/pseuds/miscreant_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutty one-shot imaging on what could (should) have happened after 3.22 for our favorite smoochers. Based on a tumblr writing prompt meme of the word "monster".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales From the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Writing prompt from trina-deckers: "Captain Swan and 13 [monster] -- (you can imagine where my brain was when I chose this)
> 
> So this started out to be a silly, light-hearted smutty drabble. Or at least that is what I intended. Not realizing I had two things preventing that from happening: Emma Swan and Killian Jones. Shit. I started writing, and before I knew it, I was nothing more than a sobbing lump of jello on the floor, soul ripped out by those two idiots and I couldn’t stop. I swear, I tried. I tried, I tried, I tried. Even when I tossed up my hands and said, ‘fine, have at it you two but let’s just have some happy endings here, okay?’ they still ran a little while.
> 
> All that to say, hi, first Captain Swan fanfic. One shot. Nice and smutty. Just one take on what an extended last episode of Season 3 could have looked like….      

**Tales From The Sea**

 

She wouldn’t mind being here forever, legs draped across his lap as his hand cradles her head, mouth slowly tasting hers with hungry caresses of his tongue and gentle catches of her lips with his teeth. She should be cold, the early spring night only just above freezing, but all she knows at this moment was warmth, fire he was gently stoking deep in her belly, nerves that were turning to flames with his touch, her soul nothing but white hot embers from the look in his eyes.

He was undoing her. All of her, every defense, every promise, every broken shard. He was weaving a way through all those traps and defenses she had up for years as surely as his mouth was trailing a path along her jaw. 

And breath catches as she realizes she wants him to. She wants him to make it past that hard exterior, past the insecurities of the unwanted girl, to find that bit of her even she wasn’t sure about, to hold her, caress her. To make her heart brave enough to feel again.

She can’t breathe. There is no air here, and she pulls away as she fights a fear that was rising as quickly as desire. One look at the dark tint to his eyes, his open soul right there for her to see. Every ounce of admiration, fascination, _oh God_ , even love, right there in eyes that seem to reflect the star-filled midnight sky above. She shakes her head, focusing instead on where her fingers were tugging at the thickly embroidered lapels of his coat. That he can look at her like that, trust her, just be like that when he has no notion of how easily she could wound him.

Not that she wants to, but she knows what she is. She is nothing but shards of shattered promises and wrong decisions. The product of true love is nothing more than a mine-field for anyone stupid enough to try and touch her. 

Her fingers trace over the intricate stitching decorating leather as soft as silk, his fingers tangle in her hair as his thumb caresses her jaw, his other arm holding her close.

A murmur that pulls her tumbling emotions even closer to him, “What is it, love?”

She glances up at him, catching sight of that smile of his, the unguarded one. The smile that makes her want to curl up in the genuineness of it, to hold on to it forever, bask in the feeling of utter joy it gives her.

No one has ever smiled at her like that. Not even… No, not even _him_.

The twist to her heart brings her back to the texture of the leather under her fingers, to the feeling of wonder and disbelief, utter gratefulness of what he had done. All he gave up, all he risked. And for her.

Her voice is barely more than a whispered wonder. “Your ship.” 

“What about it?”

She shakes her head, not wanting to give away the dangerous path her heart is leading her down. Words slip out before she realizes what she is saying. “I mean, where will you sleep?”

He brushes his nose against hers with a chuckle before pulling back slightly, that teasing glint in his eye once again making her smile. 

“Is that an invitation, love? Because from what I remember, that apartment of yours is a bit overcrowded.” He catches her lips again before she can shake her head, rendering her speechless, so he can continue on, murmuring the words against her lips. “Besides, as much as relations between your father and I may have improved, that is not a request for a cup of coffee I want to be making in the morning.”

She pokes him in the ribs, making him laugh all the more as he tries to plunder her mouth once more. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She tries to wriggle back from him, but finds instead he manages to pull her closer until she is nearly in his lap. She catches his face in her hands, holding him away from her for a moment. “It’s a public vagrancy concern. I am still sheriff, you know.”

“Aye, a bloody hero with a badge to prove it,” he manages to drop a kiss on the end of her nose before reaching into his pocket and flipping a key with a large fob onto the table with a clatter. “Good thing Ruby slipped this to me with a wink and said something about a king bed.”

“Mmm, good thing,” she murmurs back as his mouth finds hers again, once more nearly too gentle, too soft, caressing her with a patience and diligence that makes her wonder if he was searing every second, every taste, every slow caress of his tongue into his memory as she was. 

God, she wants him to map every inch of her, to trace and retrace all of her, to bring her back into being, back into hope.

_Hope_.

Her heart clenches again, and she realizes that is what she tastes on him, what that added tingle to the warmth of him is. It was there for him as much as it was for her. 

“So tell me,” he murmurs against the corner of her mouth, shifting her once again even closer. “What exactly is a king bed? Is it some kind of royal luxury?”

She chuckles, pulling back to watch his face, fingers absently combing through his hair. “No, it’s referring to the size of it.”

“Well,” he tilts his head so she can catch the impish look in his eyes, “my reputation must precede me, because I swear Ruby has no first hand knowledge.”

It was hopeless to try and contain her laughter, but she still playfully swats at him. “Of the bed, smart-ass.”

“Exactly. A ship this size can’t anchor in just any port.”

She shakes her head. “I think I’m forgetting what I ever saw in you.”

“That,” he says, with a sudden emphasis of his lips on hers, “is because you have yet to hear any of my tales from the sea.” His fingers are tracing across her jaw, gently stroking down the column of her throat, fingertips just teasing the skin over her collarbone beneath her sweater. It is a touch she feels everywhere in her body, stirring those wakened embers into stronger flames.

Her mouth finds his again. “Shiver me timbers,” she murmurs with one last chuckle into his mouth.

“Oh, I plan to, love, I plan to.”

His tongue finds hers once more, still breathlessly gentle in his explorations of her mouth, despite all his joking. She squirms closer, nearly in his lap, hands lost in his hair, her body wanting to be lost somewhere else. The chill of the early spring evening is forgotten as she breaks to catch her breath, forehead pressed to his.

“So,” she pants, one hand coming to trace the skin in the exposed by the wide vee of his shirt, teasing the edges, restraining herself from undoing buttons. “What kinds of tales?”

His arm has her firmly in his grip, but the fingers on his other hand seem to tremble slightly as he untangles them from her hair. “Oh, I’m thinking of stories about explorations of new lands as a starting point.”

“Mmm,” she nods her head slightly against his, glancing up from watching her hands trace circles on his chest. “And then maybe some with monsters?”

“Well, there may be one monster which I suspect will find his way into these tales of explorations.”

“Only one, hmm?” Her nose brushes against his as she leans into him further. “This wouldn’t by any chance be a one-eyed sea monster, would it?”

A grin curves his lips, and she glances at his eyes, catching them as they darken. “And here you said what had been written of me in those fairy tales was all bad.” He pulls her fully onto his lap, teasing himself against her. “Trust me, it can be a friendly monster,” he whispers against her ear. “In the right hands….”

“Well, if not, I seem to have my magic back. And I’ve used it before to defeat a monster or two.”

“Defeat? Why would you want to defeat it?” He feigns shock even as his tongue traces the edges of her earlobe and she shivers at the electric shocks it sends straight to her thighs. “Not that the idea of you using your particular magic on said monster doesn’t sound exactly like what I have been imagining.”

She arches her neck, hips pressing harder against his, and sighs as his tongue begins to trace a path down her throat. “I’ll have to be careful. Magic always comes with a price.”

He nips ever so gently at the curve of where her neck meets shoulder, before lifting his head to feather his lips over her jawline. “I think I paid it when I got knocked out for kissing that wench I met in a bar.”

“Which one?” she quips turning and giving him a look before teasing him with the breath of her lips over his. She shifts slightly on his lap, teasing him in an entirely different region. “I think the tide is rising.”

“It’s been in a high for a while, lass.” Another soft touch of lips, gentle testing answered by soft reassurances. 

“Then perhaps it’s best we get this ship tied up at dock, no?” she pulls back again, glancing quickly at the table where the key lay, then at the light streaming from the windows of the diner, where her family is gathered. Her very large family that seems to be growing by the second. She meets his eyes again, still smiling, her need to hide that from him long gone.

He lifts her as he stands, setting her on her feet, arm still wrapped about her waist. “Going to let me practice my knots, are you?”

She rolls her eyes before giving him one last kiss. “Ha! Just a manner a speech, pirate.” She catches his hand in hers as she steps away from him, tossing him another glance with raised brow. “For now.”

* * *

He shoves Emma into the back hallway of Granny’s, slamming the door behind him, anything to push away the anger and upset that had raged out on the sidewalk, the hate spewing from Marian to Robin and Regina, the anger and hurt that flowed from Regina to Emma that was so palpable, he could nearly taste it on his tongue. Henry had immediately jumped to try and calm his mother, insisting he wanted to look after her, and Killian hadn’t missed the look the lad had tossed his way, the silent plea for him to keep Emma safe.

As if he needed to be asked.

Any bad feeling he might of had about the potential of this situation in the Enchanted Forest was nothing compared to what was erupting around them.

Emma turns around again, trying to push him aside and make her way back outside. “No, I have to try and explain —”

He spreads his arms, bracing hands on the walls of the narrow passage.

“No, you can’t, Swan. Not right now. Let’s … let’s let things cool off a bit.” 

She refuses to meet his eyes, looking past him, that same look of shock, horror, realization of what new twist of fate she had created sinking in, sketching a pain across features he had just memorized alight with joy.

Her voice is a hoarse whisper. “I should have listened to you.”

He’s lost count of how many times she had been saying that in the last ten minutes. He sighs, and puts his hands on her shoulders, trying to caress away the guilt that fills her eyes.

“And, I could have stopped you, but I didn’t.”

She shoots him a sharp glance. “Could you have stopped me?”

That flame, that fierce determination to find some kind of justice in any situation bores into him. Stop her? No, he knows he never could, not when she is hell-bent on doing something, just as she had been with saving Marian’s life.

Instead, he just shakes his head, and carefully gathers her into a loose embrace. “No, but I could have argued with you more.” He hesitates a moment, feeling her begin to relax, the fight beginning to seep out of her as the guilt began to take over. “And if you really need to assign blame, can I least share it? I did carry her through the portal.” 

She leans her forehead against his chest. “What did I do?”

The jagged edge of her whisper nearly destroys him, and he pulls her closer, words failing him. He feels her body beginning to tremble as shock sets in, and he quickly turns her around, gently guiding her up the stairs to his room. A fleeting thought of the sitting room down on the first level flashes in his head, with the question of what the bloody hell he was doing, but it doesn’t stop him from leading her down the upstairs hall and opening the door to his darkened bedroom anyway.

She does a good job trying to cover the slight hiccup before letting out a bitter laugh as she glances at the enormous bed that dominates the room. “If you are trying to distract me, Hook, I approve.”

The door clicks shut behind them and he closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead. “Aye, well, not exactly the plan I had in mind to get you up here, nor the time.” 

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure replacing the tension of her being the object of Regina’s rage with the sexual tension of their moments alone outside was even possible, never mind wise. But she needed to a safe place to beat herself up if she was intent on that, and he wanted to be that place. He needed to make her realize destroying herself would solve nothing, that he had plenty of blame to carry as well, but he wasn’t going to leave her to deal with this alone. He might be shit at actually fixing things, but he could at least hold the pieces of her in safety as she pulled that strength of hers from somewhere and put herself back together. She just couldn’t fix everything right now. Not in one night.

“What was your plan?” She turns to step closer to him, peering up through dark lashes into his face, and he sucks in his breath, tasting that tendril of trust and teasing that had wrapped around them earlier.

“Oh, I don’t know, the usual. A dozen shots of rum, and the old, ‘Let me show you my ship,’ line has always worked. Only,” he shrugs, gesturing to the room, “Not so much a ship anymore.”

He doesn’t miss the slight wince and quick flash of guilt once again in her eyes at the mention of his ship, but her lips still curved into a coy smile. “You’ll have to change that offer to showing off your king bed.”

He can’t believe his cheeks are flushing, but this woman could walk through every guise of his without even trying.

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, you’re royalty, so I’m sure it’s nothing novel for you.” _That’s it Killian, toss up every jest you can as a too-late defense from someone already in your heart._

The suddenly somber look on her face and distant focus of her eyes isn’t something he expects. He carefully reaches out to cup her chin, trying to meet her eyes. “Swan?”

She swallows and lets out a shaky breath, green eyes refusing to meet his. “Nothing. Just —” She hesitates, biting the corner of her lip. “Just, wow, I can really suck at this kind of thing.”

The nervousness of her slight chuckle echoes far too familiar with him. Caressing her jaw gently with his thumb, he once again takes in how much of her is actually exposed in her pale face right now. Part of him wants to look away, to pace to the other side of the room as his own doubts and shortcomings bubble to the surface. She was a princess, and he was no prince. He was anything but. 

_Can I ever be honorable enough to be worthy of all she is exposing of herself right now?_

But he can’t stop touching her, the softness of her skin under his sea-roughened finger-pads, nor can he move from the circle of her pull, the emotions that seem to ripple out of her, tugging him in tighter when every bit of logic should scream don’t get too close.

Perhaps she was more witch than princess.

“Emma.” His voice is quiet, her name more of a feeling in his mouth, an emotion on his lips he wants to savor again and again. The tumble of it on his tongue makes his stomach somersault like that of a greenhorn on his first voyage. He wants to say it again, just for the way it feels.

She stares at him for a moment, and he manages to catch a glimpse of it, that flicker, that spark of trust he thought he had imagined earlier tonight until he tasted it on her tongue. And then her hands are cupping his face, pulling him down to her lips as she rises on tiptoe to meet them.

He never knew the prospect of drowning to be so wonderful. Where he would touch and explore her gently, she now pushes in with a rush, a leap of faith into his arms with total belief that he is going to catch her. 

How can he not? Fingers tangle in her hair again, arm about her waist, suddenly conscious of the curve of silver at its end, now feeling more a weapon of him, his ability to hurt her without intending, and he pulls away from her with a gasp.

A muffled cry of surprise or disappointment, and she looks up at him, eyes going wide as cheeks go pink. He bends in to whisper lips over hers, catching the warmth of her quickened breath, sighing into the scent of her. 

“Not you,” he murmurs against her, leaning his forehead into hers. “I’m just a little —”

She shakes her head against him, hands drifting down once more to press against his chest. “No, it’s fine. And besides, I shouldn’t … I mean,” she glances up at him quickly, her face completely flushed now. “Nothing like still living with your parents.”

It’s his turn to blush, and he tugs on his ear, not exactly sure what he wants to share about a far too serious talking to he was given in the back hall of Granny’s earlier tonight. He had actually been doing his best to try and forget the whole conversation. 

“Well, ah, let’s just say I don’t think you are exactly expected home tonight.” 

Her brows drew together. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t —” She stops, staring at him as her eyes go wide with sudden comprehension. “No! They didn’t! Who —”

“Your father, and let’s just say it was an experience I never want to repeat, Swan.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck now, the heat from his embarrassment, not to mention other reasons, making him want to shrug his coat off. 

Her mouth drops open as she stares at him, color rising higher so even her ears are pink. “What exactly did —”

He cuts her off with a wave of his hook. “Not repeating it, Swan. Ever.”

She looks at him a moment more and then begins to laugh. She tries to hard to hide it, but the waves of it hit again and again, slipping past lips she’s trying to keep closed behind her hands. Eyes begin to fill with tears as she struggles not to double over.

And he can’t help but join in with her as he shrugs out of his coat, raising his brow and reaching out his hand for hers. 

When he turns back to her, the traces of her laughter still curve the edges of her mouth, but her eyes have gone serious, flecks of the Emma who runs away hiding there. He wants to wrap his arms around her and find away to change that look of worry from her face, to give her one moment of safety, of comfort, of peace, one moment of love she can believe in. A reason to stay.

He wonders if he is really the man to do that for her. He wants to more than anything, but as he glances down, the dim light that reflects for a split second off his hook reminds him of the decades, the centuries, of shame he now carries. As if drawn to fire he knows will burn him, he reaches out to touch that wicked curl of silver, his own chosen reminder of the mistake he had made, the revenge he sought, the cruelty he could inflict.

_Cruelty_.

He hesitates, suddenly cold at the idea of having to reveal himself, all of himself, scars included, to her. He’s been able to cover himself before with other women, with swagger, with trained touches and distractions, with plenty of rum and no feelings but only lust involved. But not at this moment, not with her, not Emma. Never had anyone he actually loved been faced with he truth of him, the raw view of what he had become.

They are scars that now hurt more and deeper then when they were freshly made. Jagged physical reminders of a revenge that had consumed so much of him, blurring the edges, and truths of his love for Milah, hiding the shame in knowing what he had helped to destroy in his selfishness of loving her; a family shattered, a cowardly man turned into a monster, a boy lost and tormented by having both parents choose something else ahead of loving him. Killian never wanted to face it, those bitter truths that festered below the surface, made him try and shut everything out for too long with a wall of vengeance, of his lust to have his revenge on Rumplestiltskin.

He’s pulled from his thoughts and doubts by her hands curving over his, fingers stroking knuckles, his hook, his palm, with unquestioned acceptance. His breath is a ragged sigh as she steps in closer, fingers still playing across his, forehead brushing across his cheek, a warm rush of her breath against his throat. Eyes drift shut as the space between them begins to vanish into the charged need of both.

“I never want to hurt you.” He breathes the words into her temple, praying for some kind of forgiveness, something to clear away the stain of the man he has been for too long.

There is a pause, but she doesn’t move from where she is. He can feel their breaths matching each others rhythm. 

“I know.” She shifts to look at him. “You’ve shown me that. But,” her voice catches. “But, I think it’s more likely I will hurt you.” Green eyes search his as her hands squeeze tighter on his. “Don’t I always? Isn’t that what everything tonight has shown? I act and things fall to pieces around me. I bring things to a place they shouldn’t be.”

He leans closer, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths mingling. “No, not everything, lass. What about being here in Storybrooke, about staying?” His voice drops to a hoarse whisper. “I’d say your being here, is something being where it very much needs to be. You’ve brought me hope.” He’s not sure he can get the words out, if there are words for what she had done to him. “You changed me. You showed me something in that first kiss, something I gave up on. Some piece of the man I used to be, the honor-bound one. I will risk everything for what you gave me back, to believe that I can show you that man.”

He can almost feel the struggle inside her, that ever present instinct to pull back to run, and the one wanting to drink in his words and trust the truth of them.

“I don’t know why you would do that, when all I’ve ever done is push you away.”

“You never knew pirates were stubborn? And, you are here now, aren’t you?” He smiles and rubs his nose against hers, teasing her lips with the near touch of his. “You are more than worth it. Because if you, Emma Swan, aren’t my happy ending, then I’ve no idea what all this has been about.”

She stiffens slightly at that, and his thumb seeks to caress her fingers as he holds his breath, willing her to believe, to see all she is worth. There is nothing else for him in the world but her. His heart actually aches with how much he has come to love her, to need her to be in his life, to be that place he wanted to call home. He knew she had begun to feel the same way, her finally accepting the need for her family to be in her life, the way she had looked at him earlier tonight, the way she had tasted when he kissed her.

“Do we really ever get happy endings?” She’s looking at him now, and he can see that same desire to believe in her eyes. 

“Aye, you do. You’re in the book now, princess. And that means you get a happy ending. And so does this.” His lips cover hers once more, gentleness falling away as he nudges her open, seeks the taste of her again, the warmth of her against him. How she can doubt when just this can reach to the very core of him, stirring a place no one has ever touched. Her eventual sigh against him makes him chuckle, and raise his head to whisper, “And I can guarantee you that you will have one hell of a happy ending tonight.”

“All this is assuming I’m staying.” Her lips caress his jaw as she hums her teasing, as her hands still stroke over his, the one still there and the bitter reminder. 

He tries to laugh, but the sound that escapes him is more of a groan. “I’ve followed you into how many realms and across how many centuries now, Swan?” His lips find the shell of her ear, tongue carefully tracing the curve as her hands tighten on his and she is leaning into him fully. “Don’t make me chase after you again tonight.”

Her answering purr teases against his chest as she turns to catch his mouth fully, parting lips an invitation to fall under her particular spell again. He’s wrapped up in her already, and still the rhythm and stroke of her mouth draws him in further, until they are both trying to catch their breath.

“You told me it was bad form to tamper with a man’s hook, and as much as I’ve gotten used to the adrenaline rush of constant danger, I don’t trust myself right now not to get caught up on…”

He giver her a sly smile. “Really now? I promise to be careful,” he hums against her, his hand trapped between them drifting to tease the swell of her breast.

She reaches up, hand curving around his neck, a foot hooking around his calf as she presses herself harder agains him, mouth hungry and desperate beneath his. “I’m not interested in you being careful right now, Killian,” she manages to pant.

He stares into eyes gone forest green with want and need, wondering how he has fallen so far so fast. “Well, then, as you wish.” He doesn’t know what it is that makes her grin with a particular light of mirth on her face whenever he offers her that phrase, but this was the third or fourth time he’d observed it, and is was determined to continue to tease it out of her. 

Pushing, pulling, tugging, hands begin to make quick work of clothing and the leather straps of his brace. All he can hear for a moment is the soft rattle of the pendants on the chain around his neck as her hands explore the expanse of his chest, lost in the sensation of silken hair brushing against bared skin as her head dips forward to begin carving a path of his undoing with her lips along his collarbone.

A dull thump as hook falls on layers of discarded sweater and shirt, boots toed off, and only silken skin and lace under his exploring fingers, heat from both of them radiating and dancing in the near nonexistent space between them as desire leads them in the turn and steps of this oldest of tunes.

The bed catches them unawares, and she breaks into a breathless laugh as she tumbles back onto it. She pushes him back from following her, “Wait a minute. You’re a bit overdressed for this ship.” Kneeling up, she traces an investigatory path over black leather, the tease in her eyes and smile growing bigger as she closes over his arousal. 

The electric rush of pleasure overtakes him and his legs nearly buckle under him and he grasps at her for balance. “Emma.” It is a plea and prayer in one hoarse groan.

She grins into his mouth. “Nice sword,” and fingers begin to tug at laces that refuse to budge. Frowning she looks down and tugs harder, fumbling to find where the leather sinews are knotted. “Are you kidding me?”

He laughs at her voiced vexation, and uses the distraction to step in closer, and trace the edges of a deep blue lace bra. “Maybe if you use the magic word.” He tilts his head to tease behind her ear with his tongue as she leans into his palm as he teases her nipple through the lace, her sigh a mix of arousal and frustration. 

“What, ‘abracadabra’?” She tries for a mocking tone, but is a bit too breathless to make it work.

He’s nibbling along the line of her jaw, fingers now slipping into cups of lace and his wrist pulls her closer with lazy circles on her back. “Careful, if your magic is back, we’ve no idea what that word from you could release.”

“I’m pretty sure —” she gasps, back suddenly arching into him as he sucks on her earlobe. “Pretty sure I’ve already got a monster on my hands I wouldn’t mind releasing.”

“Told you,” he can’t help chuckling into her ear. Finger tips trace a path down her belly, earning him a muttered, _“Christ, Killian!”_ as they dip briefly under the low curving band of her panties before shifting to expertly untangle the knot securing the lacings at his waist.

She pushes his hands out of the way, and with a tug, leather settles lower on his hips, fingers and palms beginning a hungry exploration of his skin, wrapping around to his buttocks, tugging him closer.

“Nice work,” he breaths against her, foreheads pressed together.

She quirks a brow at him with a cheeky grin. “Pirate.”

“Always said you had a little pirate in you, Swan.”

She’s pushed down his trousers and underclothes down past his hips, allowing him to step out of them. Fingers snake subtly across his belly, teasing him with their proximity. “I’m hoping for more than a little in me tonight.”

“Pretty sure I can guarantee that, love” he exhales, pushing her back onto the duvet, covering her with his body as his mouth hungrily seeks hers again.

Heated skin meets to spark new needs and pulses race as electric tingles and shivers are exchanged. Mouths and hands press and seek, discovering new territories as whispers and laughter and gasps lace the space around them. His senses overload with the taste of the salt on her skin, a sea breeze that fills the hole in his heart, as she moves under him like the cresting of a wave. Golden hair in the dim light reminds him of the last hints of sunset on the horizon, pulling him in closer to discover every texture of her, silken, wet, goose-fleshed with need, each discovery pulling a new siren song out of her, reminding him just how much she has wrapped herself around his soul.

Fingers caress his scalp, occasionally clenching to fistfuls of hair as tongue, hand and mouth trace and memorize the curve of each breast. Her back arches up with an intoxicating moan whenever he lets his teeth graze over her nipple before slowly suckling them as she pulls her whole body tighter against his, legs wrapping around him, her hot flesh kissed with perspiration, pressing and pulling against his arousal.

Kisses trail down her belly, hand and wrist skimming the sides of her breasts, the curve of her waist, caressing her hips as his head dips lower. Body and hand nudge her thighs wider, fingers swirling lacy patterns across silken skin, her trembling beneath him a dance to her soft sighs and gasps. He teases and tempts her until she nearly growls his name as she tugs at his hair, begging him to kiss her where his fingers have only lightly whispered. Sweet and salty on his tongue, he breathes her in as he follows her reactions to chart his discovery of her, each moan, gasp, grip of his wrist pushes him forward to treasure more, eyes flicking up to drink in each reaction. Tongue, teeth, lips and fingers are unraveling her, and he’s lost in the pleasure that is blooming under his mouth, tied to the delicious and maddening ache of need between his legs.  His name on a sharp whisper as she surges beneath him, the sudden waves of her orgasm crashing over her, he knows he needs no other home that her.

She tumbles back into her body, the hammering of her heart hard against her ribs, fingers shaking, still tingling as she tries to reach for his face, his hair again as he traces a lazy path back up her body. Feeling as if she is tasting air for the first time, she can only stare at him, his deep blue gaze so intense into her as he kisses his way from one hip to the ribs on the other side, only letting his lids drift shut as lips so carefully mark the curve of the bottom of her breast, hand and arms coming to wrap around her still trembling form.

Limbs loose and heavy, she returns the embrace as he settles his face against the side of her neck and she tries to see if her voice is ready to work. At the moment, all she can manage is to dig fingers into his damp skin, breathing in exquisite weight of him on her, grounding her, as his lips trace along her jaw. Hungrily, she turns her face to his, capturing his mouth, watching his face, searching for his eyes even as she pours out her racing emotions against his tongue.

_“Killian.”_  

It is a gasp only as she strokes a foot up the back of his leg, pressing more firmly with her toe behind his thigh, his calf, as his hips rock into hers with a low moan from his chest. He’s studying her face, fingers, pushing back strands of hair, dark gaze holding hesitant questions behind pieces of hope.

She wonders how she can feel a blush creeping up her face when her whole body is already flushed from what he just did to her. But she didn’t want to look away, to ignore what she had just shared with him, the intimacy of it. Instead, a grin begins to creep across her her face, and she has to keep a rising giggle in check and she reaches a finger out to trace the outline of his mouth.

“Well, think we can say X marks the spot.”

His chuckle joins hers, the echo of it tickling over her breasts pressed against his chest, warming her even more between her legs. 

“Oh, I think this goes beyond a mere treasure hunt.”

Despite the mirth in his voice, she can feel the reverence in his voice. Where fear and warning bells would normally start going off in her head, pushing her to the door as soon as possible, it isn’t know. And for the first time ever, she’s glad, thrilling to the feel of electric shivers spreading out over her skin, tickling her like a million faeries kisses and causing her to squirm against him even more.

Their shared gasp of surprise and need has her finding his mouth again, hands mad to trace across his body, to feel the shift of every muscle under blazing skin, to pull those moans out of him again, the look in his eyes that makes her chest ache. Fingernails tease a path from his hips up his sides and across his chest, pulling an oath from lips once again busy at her throat, and she’s lost to the wild tumble of their bodies, the sensations visited on each other before she realizes she’s keening out a moan against his temple, hips rocking as he’s settled fully between her thighs.

A rushing sense of the here and now hits her with an icy rush, and she stiffens, trying to catch her breath, as she pushes at his shoulder.

“Killian, wait, wait,” she murmurs, her panicked movement as she tries to unseat him making him still.

Shit, his stare. How dare he fucking lay his heart out to her like that, ripping her own out in the process, showing he’s ready to take whatever blow she’s about to throw his way. Stroking his face, she shakes her head, trying to find words that are impossible, and she pulls him in for a long slow kiss. 

“We need some protection,” she murmurs into him, watching as that raw expression clouds over, brows drawing in.

“What?”

“Protection,” she repeats, still trying to catch her breath. “I don’t suppose you have any?” 

Confused he pulls back. “Protection, for?” She watches his expression shift, and color begin to flood up his neck, and he ducks his head. “Ah, that, I —”

She cuts him off, wriggling out from under him, unconsciously pressing across areas of his body that make him suck in a breath and moan. She shoots him a sly glance, wriggling her hips under him intentionally, watching as his eyes squeeze shut.

“Bloody hell, Emma what are you trying to do to me here?”

 “Maybe —” She’s reaching for the drawer of the nightstand. He stills her with a kiss that deepens unexpectedly, tongue reluctant to stop explorations, before swinging himself off the bed.

He reaches for where his long duster has landed, digging into the pocket and pulling out the foil squares, but she’s fully distracted by the view of his backside, the muscled angles and slope she ran palms over now presented for her pleasure. 

“Well done, Captain,” she murmurs, suddenly realizing she said that aloud. 

He turns and pauses a second before sauntering slowly back to her, meeting her grin. “Enjoying the view, m’lady?”

She raises a brow and grin. “Quite.” She sits up to examine the faint lines of scars across his chest and arms, and catches sight of the packet in his hand. Her brows raise as she looks at him. “And, okay, that’s a little too well prepared. I’d like to be able to walk in the morning.”

He shakes his head at her, tossing all but one to the bedside table. “You sure about that?” he teases against her ear, joining her once again on the bed.

The jolt that runs through her body at his words and feather-light brush of his body has her contemplating the advantage to being bed-bound with this man. 

“So if this wasn’t your plan for tonight, what had you planning on being so lucky?” She pulls the packet from his fumbling grasp, ripping it open, her fingers itching to touch him, explore every inch of his length.

He sucks in a breath. “Not repeating the conversation, Swan. Ever.”

Startled, she looks up at him, and the rush color across his cheeks and begins to laugh out a combination of amusement and utter mortification, as she glances at the pile of condoms on the nightstand. “Oh my god, please tell me this is not my life.”

He makes a grab for the condom she’s holding. “This isn’t going to be your night, if you don’t stop laughing, Swan.”

“Ah, ah, mine,” she whispers, managing to restrain herself to a giggle, her hand avoiding his grasp as she kisses the sour expression from his lips. “This is all mine.” 

Her heart tugs once more at the sound of his caught breath against her temple as she grips him, slowly sheathing him, stroking over him, watching her fingers curl around and over him, completely lost in the wonder of him, body thrumming once more. His hands cover hers, stilling her explorations, nudging her back, as his head drops to her shoulder, lips once more seeking the curve of her neck.

Turning, she grasps his shoulders, pressing him back against the pillows, smile triumphant as she straddles him. She leans forward, her nipples tingling as they graze against his chest, his arousal caught firmly against that bundle of nerves screaming for more. 

“I think I have some plundering of my own to do.” Her lips dance across his, gaze glancing up to catch his, surprised to see only a hint of that teasing glint in eyes dark midnight with utter adoration. She swallows roughly against the sudden lump in her throat, but his hands are stroking over her bottom, cradling her, shifting her hips with a silent plea.

She lifts herself, guiding him to her, shuddering as her body opens to welcome him, trembling uncontrollably as hollow spots in her soul seems to fill as he fills her. Lost in a rush of sensation and emotion, her head drops against his neck, fingers digging into his shoulder as hips find a shared rhythm of their own, each stroke, each caress of his hand, each moan echoing under her adds fuel to a fire that has started deep inside of her. The uncoiling of pleasure begins someplace deeper, making her shiver, already knowing these mere tendrils are a greater rush than anything she has ever felt before.

The shock and force with which she is swept up in the sudden race of nerves alighting snaps her head back with a silent cry, back arching. She is nothing but the motion he is guiding her with, nothing but his touch in places she didn’t knew existed, nothing but this pure wave of delight that she can’t ever imagine ending. And yet as it crashes down into her body once more, filling her ears with the sound of her own cries, a surge of wet and heat and _oh, God, Killian, don’t stop, Killian, please!_ she almost can’t take another second of the pure sensation that steals her vision and has her holding on to him for dear life.

She can’t get close enough to him, and they both try, hands, mouths, legs seeking, skin sliding and pressing and desperate to share the same space, the same soul. His voice, her name, a warm weight against her ear, wrapping around her, as her arms wrap around him, turning, floating flying as his weight is now on her, pressing in deeper, _oh, God, yes_ , opening even more as thighs pull up to wrap around him, stroking up across ribs as she is drunk with the pulse of him against her. Reaching down, hands gripping the tight muscles of his ass and digging against him, begging him, pulling him closer and deeper until every last wall is shattered, and she cries out with joyful abandon as he fills her over and over. She drinks in every one of his cries, becoming nothing but liquid that hums, shimmers as he stutters out his release, sealing her skin with the heat of his, the press of his face to her neck, and the frantic pace of two shared heartbeats that become the only sound between them.

If she left this, she knew, she would just miss it. As terrifying as it was, for now, she wasn’t going to run.

* * *

“David please come back to bed.”

He shoots Mary Margaret a glare as he turns again to look out the window and the streaks of color illuminating the sky right above the center of town. “I can’t believe you think that this is nothing. That this isn’t right where,” he gestures wildly, and she sighs.

“Of course I think it is exactly _that,_ David, but I’m not the one who decided to have a little encouraging talk with our daughter’s boyfriend.” Her voice is barely above a harsh whisper. “Now, please, close the curtain and get back into bed before you wake Neal up. Again.”

Snapping the drapes shut, he stomps back to the bed and throws himself down with so much force that Mary Margaret reaches out to steady the bassinet tucked close to her side of the mattress.

“It was not an encouraging talk,” he mutters angrily. 

“You gave him condoms,” she snaps back, settling herself down on the pillow again, continuing to talk through a huge yawn. “How else was he supposed to take that?”

Well,” he crosses his arms over his chest, the twitching of his foot shaking the mattress. “You are the one who pointed out he was kissing our daughter out on the patio.”

She groans, and kicked his leg to try and get him to stop moving. “I mentioned it was about time they got a moment of happiness, as in that kiss.”

“And what am I supposed to do, just let that happen? What if it got out of hand?”

“Yes, because it definitely didn’t get out of hand now.”

“I tried to step in like a father, and you know —“ he trails off.

“I am so buying you a different set of parenting books tomorrow,” she mumbles sleepily into her pillow, thinking she’ll also be talking to Regina about getting Emma’s magic in check.


End file.
